


Assault in Malaysia

by WarlordMan162



Series: The Quest of One [1]
Category: The Lorien Legacies - Pittacus Lore
Genre: Gen, Retelling, Science Fiction & Fantasy, Survival Horror
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-10
Updated: 2019-11-17
Packaged: 2021-01-27 07:00:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21388027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WarlordMan162/pseuds/WarlordMan162
Summary: There are nine of us.Nine doomed assholes, and I'm the first of us.First blessed, first to die.I fucked up, now we have to run.They know what I look like, and they will not stop until they hunt us down and kill us.I am Number One.I know they're coming after me.I'm not ready, I'm just scared.But when they get here, I will make them pay.
Relationships: Number One/Adamus Sutekh
Series: The Quest of One [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1541884
Comments: 1
Kudos: 8





	1. Window

**Author's Note:**

> The official rewritten edition of the 2014 fanfiction "The Quest of One"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After her arrest in California, Number One has gone into hiding with her Keeper Hilde. Their self-exile from the United States has brought them to a remote bend of the Rajang River. But with plans to fund their new lives in South Asia, they fail to realize that they have been tracked until it's too late.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Monday, December 20, 2004

There’s something out there. Something in the river that’s moving against the current. This far east, where the Rajang begins to widen and level, the water is so still that if someone were to slip in, you’d notice. I can _ hear _ the ripples moving below my pillow, beneath the floorboards that stand twenty feet above the riverbed. Whatever it is moves quietly like a hunter, wading through the muck closer and closer…

And whatever’s down there is walking on two legs, their waists not even partly submerged. Far too tall for any man out here. Any _ human _ man, that is.

“They’re coming.”

I pivot my head to the voice—Hilde stands at the front door, hunched over knob to peek through the keyhole. Her tattooed shoulder blades move below her tank top; worked lean muscles straining as she inhales ragged Earthen breaths. As Hilde readies herself to fight.

They’ve found us.

“Fuck.”

Hilde hears me, and as she crosses the room the stilts holding us up shudder. Someone’s coming up the stairs. They’ll be on our porch in seconds. We’re gonna die in ten seconds!

“I counted six closing in,” Hilde says, crouching on the floor to meet me as I sit up in bed. Half of me still prays this is a dream, while the other half wants to bury myself in the paper thin sheets. “At least another dozen waiting for us on the shore.”

I open my mouth to speak, but I’m too terrified. What if they hear us?

Hilde stares at me. I search for any betrayal, any hint at our true, brutal fate. But Hilde doesn’t budge. Her wrinkled brown face is hard as ever, a sternness in her eyes that I’ve seen when we train. Twenty Mogadorians are waiting outside before breakfast, and Hilde still looks like she can fight the whole world. How the fuck is she so strong?

“You need to be _ out _of that window after I’ve killed the first wave.” She points at the draped window adjacent the front wall. The world’s still dark outside, and I don’t know if I’m ready to face it. “Once you’re past them, keep to the—”

The front door explodes inward, showering the area with splinters. As the massive boot that kicked it in steps inside, I watch my Keeper transform before me. Deep furrowed lines carve into her wrinkled face, she bares her teeth in an insidious growl like a Chimæra protecting her young.

And Hilde launches into battle.

The first Mogadorian wields a huge glowing dagger and slashes for Hilde’s throat. His attack leaves a stream of sickening violet light floating in a line, illuminating his hideous face. But Hilde, ducked well below the dagger strike, returns the favor with a punch to his windpipe.

She spins around his flailing body, legs kicking at those of the next Mog in the attack. As he topples to his knees, Hilde gets both arms around his neck and twists, the resulting _ snap _ startling me awake.

_ Two down, at least sixteen to go. _

Suddenly, both corpses collapse in on themselves, sending clouds of black smoke throughout the house. For a moment, I can’t see Hilde. But I hear her. She struggles through the thick air, hisses. Then another voice, guttural and alien, shouts before a loud _ slam _ somewhere on the floor in front of me.

The cloud thins out, escapes through the draped open window.

And in the center of the stilt house lies a Mogadorian on his back. I meet his gaze through the tops of his beady, feral eyes.

Eyes that long for my death.

“No…,” Hilde says, standing in the doorway. Her arms are outstretched, like she’s trying to reach past the Mog to get to me. “Wait, don’t—”

But he doesn’t take any interest after he hears Hilde.

Instead, the assassin sits up with an alien weapon in hand. It’s cylindrical and aimed right at Hilde’s heart.

I don’t know where it comes from, because I’ve _ never _ been this quick with TK before, but right as the barrel of the Mog’s weapon begins to hum green I feel my mind wrapping around his arms tight like a lasso. Somewhere in my head I feel a strained tug, and the tube weapon’s aim jerks up toward the ceiling. Bright green blasts of energy tear through the straw roof as the Mogadorian tries to right his aim.

He’s stuck, though. I’ve made sure of it.

  1. Telekinesis. The Legacy I’ve had for three stressful years. Only now, at what seems to be the end of our journey, do I make any true use of it.

The Mog fights it, though. He writhes beneath his bonds, cursing me out in his native language.

“Yeah, fuck you too,” I reply callously, but I feel my hold waning. “Hilde, can you—”

She snatches the dagger from her first kill off the floor.

And buries it far into the Mog’s chest.

He collapses into ash like the others before him.

“Thank you,” Hilde exhales. I’m surprised—I expected some criticism on the way I went after the Mog.

But I nod in answer, “Don’t mention it.”

The stilts vibrate again, and as more Mogadorians ascend our stairs, I pull the tube weapon to my chest. It’s huge in my arms and lightyears ahead of any Earth firearms, but luckily the principle’s the same.

Aim and shoot.

“Look out!”

Hilde dives out of the line of fire and I shred the front wall of the building. Little green flames ignite from the blaster holes in the wall, and I hear the signature _ thud _ of Mogadorians turning to ash. I’ve just killed Mogadorians. Holy shit.

“That was six…right?” I stare at the canopy through the gaping doorway. Our only line of defense is now gone, and the shadows are creeping in. “Are there more?”

“Many more.” Hilde returns from the corner of the room with my Loric Chest, the intricately carved box containing my bloodline’s Inheritance. She shoves it into my pack and slides it across the ashen floor to my bed. “Go straight into the woods. I’ll stay here and—”

“No!”

“One.”

It’s futile asking me to leave. I may have ignored major lessons in our training, but I’ll never forget the memories TK brought on. Hilde knows that I know what’ll happen if I leave her here. Am I scared? Fuck yes, But I won’t survive without Hilde out there to defend me. Of that, I’m damn sure.

By some unseen force, the cannon’s handle retracts from my fingers, where it interlaced and fused with me. Is that how their technology works, or is the weapon reacting to usage from a foreign body? Either way, it gets the job done. There’s a soft _ whoosh _ outside, like a flame igniting. Is that glow in the window the dawn, or is it something else?

“Take this.” I toss Hilde the cannon and rise to my feet, shoving the bag onto my shoulders. “I dunno about you, but running seems like the best way to get a sword through the back.”

She stares at me for a while. Then her mouth forms a tight straight line—Hilde’s form of a smirk. “Okay. Let’s end this.”

We have the high ground in this stilt house. When she opens fire I hear the Mogadorian bodies _ thud _ as they disintegrate in the river, the slosh of water filling up empty space. Still, I can tell Hilde’s exhausted from the first fight. If they go too far within range, the house will be swarmed again and there won’t be a door to stop them.

So I stand in the center of the house, concentrating on my breath, my mind. I haven’t properly trained with TK in nearly two months, though. There’s a chance I still won’t be strong enough to protect both of us. Besides, we still have no clue how many there are out there, lurking in the dark before dawn.

Hilde releases streams of green fire down at the river. One by one, the eerie firelight goes out around the house. Until one of them launches through the window. My Keeper ducks out of the way—the bolt of light would’ve taken her head clean off—as the odd form of matter embeds itself in the wall behind me. It’s like a blade, shimmering in icy blue, the embers dripping onto the floor.

Now _ that’s _ alien.

Heavy footfalls thunder up the stairs and shadowed against the rising sun is another Mogadorian. His sinewy hands are empty, veins going up and down its massive arms. With the thing glowing on the wall, I catch his gaze. Hollow, magenta eyes deadset on the floor. Stabbed into the floor by my bed is the dagger from the first Mog—in the same place Hilde impaled the warrior with the cannon.

With my mind, I yank at the dagger’s handle. If I can just launch it from the floorboards _ into _ the creature at the door, I—

Fuck.

It doesn’t budge.

The Mog in the doorway grins at me. He knows I’m not strong enough.

_ Oh, fuck! _

We take off for the dagger at the same time. His legs are longer, so he’s basically on top of me by the time my hands reach the weapon. It’s lodged in there tight. I lean out of the way of the Mog, and as I fight the dagger free, my feet—

** _BOOM!_ **

Outside I can hear the stilts snap and fold in on themselves. Air rushes past the windows as we crash into the water. The Mog slips, splashes in the dark Rajang. He’s trying to get back upright. Now’s my chance!

I kick at the floor again, and the next explosion blasts the walls out. Splinters rain down on the riverbank. The house is instantly flooded with murky riverwater, pushing us together. I catch sight of Hilde’s cannon bobbing about in the now-violent river, but I only see her for a second.

The Mogadorian rises out of the river. He stands a good six feet above the water; his legs are only halfway submerged whereas I’m struggling to keep my head above the rippling waves. If I want to free the dagger, I’ll need to—

I take a deep breath and duck beneath the river’s violent surface. It’s muffled, but I can hear the Mog’s steady footsteps wading toward me. I manage to keep from tumbling along with the current, wedging my left foot into a muddy depression while I go to work on kicking apart the floorboards. The Mog’s padded knees are just within sight when I blast the house to pieces.

Then, that same power—the blasts I’m apparently emitting—surges within me.

The Legacy rages through my veins, pushing my body into motion. I launch out of the water and straddle the Mogadorian around the waist. One hand goes around his throat while my other drives the alien dagger up into his ribcage.

Its eyes are wide with rage. Looking into them—just like the one with the cannon—sends an odd chill down my spine. But this time, I can handle it. I’m not paralyzed with fear, and when I take a closer look I see that rage is only mine. Reflected back at me as the dawn light catches its retinas. The last look this Mogadorian has before it disintegrates is fear.

Fear of me. And my Legacy savors it.

I push the Mogadorian’s shoulders back and let myself fall through his collapsing body. Before I disappear in the black cloud and the waters below, I do a once-over of my enemies. Hilde, nowhere to be seen; there are at least another twenty Mogs out here, some of them on the shore while others wade closer to me. The ones closing in are carrying massive flaming swords, the blades ablaze in various, extraterrestrial colors.

I let the river drag me downstream, in the direction I was originally supposed to go. The only problem is that I can only assume the Mogadorians are following the Rajang as well, assuming we’d follow its course if their ambush failed. I hold my breath for as long as I can, clinging to a piece of debris. The Mog blade hums softly when pressed against my body, but it’s all I can do to hide its purple glow.

My piece of debris—a large splinter of one of the stilts—stops its flow downriver, probably lodged in some of the boulders down this stretch. I release myself from the log and swim. The water has calmed down enough for me to circle rocks until I can make it to the side. Last thing I want is to come out of the water in the direction they’re—

_ Goddammit, they’re fucking everywhere! _

The back of a Mogadorian’s tattooed head towers over the rocks. This must’ve been where they watched us from before attacking us. Barely half a mile downriver. Dammit. We should’ve known—the way the rocks were always so quiet, shadowed by the overhanging canopy. After a couple days living in this jungle, I’ve heard nearly every kind of animal there is to hear from every corner, but nothing over here. Nothing by these rocks.

Nothing from Earth.

“Any sign of the priority target?” a gruff, accented voice bellows. The Mogadorian at the top of the cliffs turns toward me. I duck behind the rocks, listening to the crackling sound that follows.

_ “No sir…,” _ a static voice replies. Radios? “ _ The Cêpan is refusing to speak. Should we begin interrogation?” _

_ They have Hilde! _

“Set up camp by the fishing commune. Keep the grandmother out in the open to lure her in. Alone, they might not break. But together, don’t worry. One of them is going to talk.”

“_ Yes sir,” _ another crackle, then, “ _ for Mogadorian Progress.” _

“For Mogadorian Progress.” I hear another voice atop the cliffs, but it’s too soft to make out. The tattooed Mog nods and says, “Make it quick. Sunup in two minutes.”

I climb out of the water on bare feet, careful not to slip on the wet rocks. A tree grows out of the cliffside. Maybe if I can get to the sturdy, upper branches, I can just climb over and away from the Mogs. But how the fuck am I supposed to free Hilde?

“Hey, Adamus!”

I scramble up into the canopy. The leaves do enough to camouflage me, but I’m not exactly sure what I need protection from. Two Mogadorians scale down the boulders. They’re smaller than the ones Hilde and I just faced, though. In fact, I think they’re kids.

“I didn’t have to take a piss,” says the larger of the two boys. He looks older than he sounds. “Why’d you say that to the General?”

“So we could talk before we head back to the airstrip.”

“What is it?”

The other boy is also tall, but rail thin with more angular facial features. His hair is stringier and longer than his friend’s. When he speaks, it’s in a similar accent to the tattooed one overlooking the river. “You saw what happened during the attack?”

“Uh, yeah. It was kind of awesome. You know, until those Loric scum slaughtered over a troop of our vatborn.”

The thin Mog waves this off. “Those can be replaced. I’m talking about with the cannons.”

“What about them?”

“Ivan. The Loric were _ using _ our guns. Do you know what that means?”

The larger kid—Ivan, I guess his name is—shrugs his shoulders. “I mean, I’d assume alien killers would know how to shoot guns, too. Even mortals can—”

“No, Ivan. You don’t understand. It’s like… The woman we captured shouldn’t have been able to operate that weapon at all, with the way they’re designed.”

“How does _ that _ work?” _ Good question, Ivan. _ “And man, could you explain this quicker? Now I sorta _ do _ have to take a piss.”

I hear the thin Mog—Ivan called him Adamus—sigh. Then Ivan takes off running around the rocky corner. Adamus stops right at the trunk of the tree I’m in. Luckily, the Mog’s eyes look down as it unbuckles its pants. He doesn’t see me lower myself down to the rocks behind him.

I wait until he’s got a steady stream going against the bark to place the tip of my blade at his throat.

“Scream and you’re dead,” I whisper.

Shallow breath from the Mog’s large nose. He slowly raises his hands from his dick and stops urinating. Surrenders. On the rocks above us, sunlight begins to bathe the canopy, and I can hear a collective groan of Mogadorians, followed by an odd game of telephone.

The tattooed one on the cliff shouts, “Sunup!” and the call resounds back up the riverbank.

_ They’re distracted by the sunrise, _ is all I can think. _ All of them, except this one. _

“Zip up your pants. We’re moving.”

He obeys. I catch him trying to steal a glance at me over his shoulder, and respond with pressing the dagger’s serrated edge harder against his throat. “Don’t look at me. _ Walk. _”

“Okay, I’m walking.” He growls, turning.

To face Ivan. Returning from his piss break.

I’m sure Ivan is about to cry out for the warriors, and I am ready to slit the thin Mog’s throat wide open when Adamus chokes out, “Ivanick. Listen to me.”

His friend stands there, his mouth agape. He’s wearing sunglasses now so I can’t see his eyes. But I can bet they’re furious.

“Go back to the General,” says Adamus. “Tell him that I have been captured by the Garde. Let him know that my internment will be brief, and that this exchange may pave a new way for Mogadorian Progress.”

Wait a second. Is he going along with my hostage plan, or is he making his own?

It all depends on what Ivan says next. His jaw works as he tries to find the right response.

Finally, the Mog says, “May the Beloved Leader guide you. May my kin bring their wrath upon this Loric—”

“Hurry, Ivan.”

He shuts up, glaring at me as he passes by on slippery rocks, then he darts up the cliffside, scaling it a little too rapidly.

“So, where to?” Adamus asks me.

I’m taken aback by how calm he is. But I don’t let it disarm me. For all I know, he’s acting this way because he knows the Mogs can get him out of this.

They have Hilde. They have my Keeper. I have one of their children, and on top of that, their mission at this point seems pretty fubar. Neither of us can afford to lose our leverage.

I suppose my gamble on these kids’ importance won through, because I hear a vicious roar from the cliff, followed by another, then another. A horde of batshit insane Mogadorians in the middle of the fucking jungle, all of them out for my blood.

On that note, I reach over my captive’s waist, pulling his black T-shirt up over his head. He stumbles ahead of me into the jungle until I shove him; we’re gonna need to put some distance between me and his search party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Mogadorians have captured Hilde, but One has captured a Mogadorian. As she flees avoids capture in the Bornean jungle, she will be tested—by her captive, her environment, and her Legacies.  
Next Sunday, "Batshit"


	2. Batshit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the ambush on the Rajang, One flees into the Bornean jungle with a captive—a Mogadorian boy she plans to trade for Hilde's freedom. However, as she is tested by both her own endurance and the unforgiving jungle, One learns just how dangerous even the youngest of Mogadorians can be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Monday, December 20, 2004

The Mogadorians hunt us through the jungle.

On foot.

Apparently, the evil race of aliens that flew across the universe to kill my people couldn’t afford aerial support. I suppose that should be a relief. At least I can hear them coming, and adjust my own flight accordingly.

It’s not just sight that aids me. This new shockwave Legacy has stained my vision with harsh reds and oranges. I can see the vibrations in the Mogadorians’ footsteps as they run through the brush, shouting wildly into the morning air.

As we run, I shove the Mog boy ahead of me, keeping the blade close enough so he can hear its glowing hum. He doesn’t struggle or try to escape. Maybe he knows it’s futile, that any attempt to flee will guarantee an attempt on his life.

At least, until we reach a break in the jungle. That’s when the Mogadorian falls to his knees before me. I plant my feet to a stop and grip the dagger in both hands. For me, the long, jagged blade might as well be a sword. It’s heavier than any knife Hilde and I trained with, and even when we practiced machete combat the blades were never this clumsy.

But I’ve killed a Mog with it before. I can do it again, no problem.

“Get up!” I spit at the boy. He pulls his shirt off his head and gasps for air.

It’s at this moment that I realize I haven’t checked him for weapons or radios or—

I kick him in the face—probably the bravest thing I’ve done in a long time—which sends him crashing onto his back. Blood pours from his broad nose. Dark red and viscous blood. The pained look on his face is almost enough to make me feel bad for him.

_ Almost. _

To hide my face, I drag the top of his shirt back over his head, revealing his skinny, toned body. It’s not surprising to imagine the Mogadorians training their children as well, breeding merciless killers whose sole intent is to dominate the universe. With my strange field of vision, I do a once-over of his body for any unusual vibrations, like an odd sixth sense.

He’s clear.

“Did you hear me?” I hiss. “I said, get the fuck up!”

The Mog yanks his garment back down off his face. Wheezing. “I can’t—I—I couldn’t—breathe…”

Despite how much worse I want to make this for him, harming this Mog boy won’t help in bartering Hilde. But that whole plan may as well be suicide anyway. I grant my hostage thirty seconds to catch his breath while I scan the treeline. Nothing’s reached this neck of the woods—at least nothing big enough to be a Mogadorian.

“I’m no use if I’m dead,” the Mog coughs.

“You’d be doing me a favor,” I growl, stomping my bare foot down on the back of his head when he tries to stand. “Don’t fucking look at me!”

The Mogadorian is facedown in the dirt. He writhes for a moment, then falls still. For a moment I’m worried that I’ve killed him—the last time I stomped on the ground the earth shook—and I move his head back and forth, testing for any sort of noise or resistance.

Then he launches upward, knocking my leg away. I catch my footing before him. Probably not what he was planning, because he swipes his lanky arms across my shins. I fall, but I stay with my wits. The Mog gets to his feet, picks up the dagger I dropped. He flicks his wrist and the blade begins to spin on the hilt, like some fucked up electric drill.

_ Like I said, fucking child soldiers! _

I launch something heavy at him with my mind. A log or branch or something—it’s shredded by the spinning blade, splinters filling the clearing. I break off the ground into a sprint, the earth roaring behind me with every step. Something whips past my head, embedding into a tree trunk ahead of me. I dodge out of the way as the tree ignites in violent purple light. It crackles throughout the branches like lightning, curling the leaves. Draining its life.

When the spell is over, all that remains of the tree is a heap of ash with the dagger jutting out of it. The blade is white now, stark and devoid of color.

I glance at the Mog. Up the path, he’s sprinting for his life. I turn around, ready to leave behind the dagger and—

Wait, what?

Is he running _ away _ from me?

If he goes back to his people, I’m fucked. They’ll know the direction I’m heading in, plan for shortcuts.

I won’t have leverage against Hilde.

Even if the blade’s doesn’t work, why the fuck would I leave a weapon of theirs out here?

I spin on my heel and snatch the dagger from the mound, careful not to stumble into the pile of ash. Then, instead of the ground shaking as I sprint after the Mog, something really awesome happens. I launch across the field, clearing a quarter of a mile in a single step. I touchdown on the Mogadorian’s back.

And together we fall.

Farther and farther.

Until we’ve gone so far that the sun cannot reach.

At first, I think I’m dead.

I mean, what the fuck else can make this kind of stench?

But then I feel the muddy substance on my skin, the tiny legs that scurry over my clothes, and I wretch in the muck.

_ Yay, I survived. _

But it looks like the Mog did as well. I can see his white face and arms catching what little sunlight reaches us. The dagger shines in the darkness, its blade embedded in the ground. It must’ve recharged from when the Mog boy used it, hence the tanning lamplight we’re granted.

When I pick it up, the light’s just enough for me to see the floor.

Or lack thereof.

I almost hurl again.

Thousands upon thousands of roaches.

Big, red cockroaches.

Crawling all over each other.

The earth shakes out of nowhere, and suddenly I just want to take the end of the blade and carve off whatever insects have probably infested my person.

But there are none. I can see the vibrations, bright red and more intense than before, of the roach sea around me. There are none where I stand, where this putrid muck reaches up to my knees. I look at the blade, which vibrates with an intensity that makes me shut my eyes. The ground continues to shake, stirring up the mess I’m standing in, and something rains down from the...well, not the sky—the black ceiling of me with a jagged oval of blue light at its center.

Wait. Am _ I _doing this?

Not the bugs—fuck that shit—but the earthquakes.

One of Hilde’s teachings rages to mind.

> _ Nautilus Junior High School is two miles from the rez. It’s where Hilde is driving me this morning. My first day at a new school, with a new name. How many more of these are we gonna have to go through? _
> 
> _ It’s definitely bigger than the one back at Waning Flower. I mean, this place has _ wings _ to it. There’s a huge lawn, and in the center is a bronze sculpture of a man with a rifle. _
> 
> _ Stamped by the plaque is the Confederate flag. _
> 
> _ “Nice place,” I mutter, my legs squeezing the backpack between my legs. _
> 
> _ “You know the drill, Dahlia,” Hilde says. “Towns like these go unnoticed. We’re fighting to save everyone, even these people.” _
> 
> _ “Lucky them. _ They _ should be the ones protecting _ us. _ ” _
> 
> _ “Do not show them your intelligence or they’ll resent you.” _
> 
> _ I pull down the sun visor and look pointedly at the mirror. “If the flag’s any indication, they already do.” _
> 
> _ “Then don’t draw attention to yourself.” _
> 
> _ “Hilde—” _
> 
> _ “Don’t talk back to me.” Her voice comes hard, accented—her LDF tone. “I know it’s difficult, but you do not have a choice. I’m…” _
> 
> _ She trails off until she finds another mistake I might’ve made. “What’s in your backpack?” _
> 
> _ I unzip it, take inventory. “Uh, two weeks’ worth of rations, toiletry kit, space blanket—” _
> 
> _ “A weapon?” she suggests. _
> 
> _ “They scan you when you enter the school, Hilde. What do you want me to do, carry around a wooden shiv?” Her face doesn’t waver. Harder than the fucking sculpture’s scowl outside. “If anything…goes wrong, I’ll run straight home.” _
> 
> _ “Good.” She takes a deep breath. “Make sure to keep an eye out for signs. Your Legacies could appear any day now.” _
> 
> _ “I know, Hilde.” She’s wrong. My Legacies _ should’ve _ appeared months ago around my eleventh birthday. We train and train and nothing there’s nothing to show for it. I got stronger, faster, and I don’t fall on my ass as much as I used to during spars. The rest have yet to come. _
> 
> _ Maybe they never will. _
> 
> _ Hilde thinks otherwise. “Any day. You start to float, or if you lose muscular control, or see things that aren’t there, you call me.” _
> 
> _ “Got my phone right here.” I pat my bag and open the door to the car. “See ya, Hilde.” _
> 
> _ “One more thing.” _What now?
> 
> _ I turn back to her. “Yeah?” _
> 
> _ “If something does happen, stay calm. Being scared or angry while developing a Legacy can kill you quicker than any Mogadorian, trust me. Don’t react, think. Stay calm and call me.” _
> 
> _ “Got it,” I say, then go off to rule the school. _
> 
> I’m pretty sure that identity ended with me punching some racist cheerleader in the face and getting kicked out of school for it.

But the lesson rings truer now than ever before. Here I am, in a pit of roaches with a Mogadorian and mud rain falling from the ceiling. Nothing’s scarier than this shit!

So, I breathe. I channel all of the energy from the Legacy into the muck. I guide it, carving out paths until I reach what I know is beneath. The cavern floor. Then, my spine vibrating with energy, I disperse it up into the cave walls. That should be enough to get rid of my quake without causing a cave-in.

The bats don’t seem to like it. They soar from their stalactite homes and blot out the skylight in their abundance. As a unit, they flutter up near the mouth of the cave, then swoop back down toward the floor. I hold out the blade—not to hurt any of them, but to make use of my power more tangible.

I slam the blade down into the stone floor. Miraculously, and as I suspected, the rock splits beneath the metal. The bats are closing in, but I’m anchored now. Creating a shield of telekinesis around me, I divert their flight path. Thousands upon thousands of bats soar around me. I’m in a bubble of air, safe from them, the rock against the surging river.

And I’m eroding. What the fuck was I thinking? I’m not strong enough to hold this up for much longer. Bats are small creatures, light enough for me to manipulate. But nearly a million of them flying together in sequence is like trying to stop an asteroid.

But, somehow, the swarm starts to thin. I see a break in the bats, pull the blade from where it’s embedded in the earth, and watch them fly away. All hundred score of them.

Up, up, up.

Until daylight returns.

Then brown droplets rain down.

Bat shit.

We survived that fall because we landed in bat shit.

Crazy.

“By Ra,” I hear. The Mog boy is still here after all this craziness, uniform smeared with feces and a look of bewilderment on his alabaster face. “You did it.”

He’s sitting on the cave floor, in one of the pathways I cleared of turd.

“Get up,” I say. “You’re coming with me.”

“I can’t.”

I point the blade at him. It still glows purple, deeper than before. But hopefully that means it’s deadlier. “You think I won’t kill you?”

The Mog boy shakes his head frantically, eyes wide. Dark, pupil-less eyes. He tries to get to his feet, but collapses back down with a hoarse yelp. I watch the alien struggle, pull himself across the stone floor as he tries to get away.

I guess now I know why he didn’t run.

Before we fell in here, I had jumped on his back. I’d assumed we separated mid-fall, but I must’ve been cushioned by more than just the guano. Adamus must have absorbed both my impact and his.

He lifts his shirt, revealing bruises along his side. They’re gross, discolored, and alien, but I understand the injury.

“I think—” he coughs, steadying himself, “I think you broke one of my ribs.”

Shit. I guess this ruins my whole trade idea. The plan was to return him unharmed—at least, nothing more than a much deserved Loric ass kicking—and now I’ll have internal bleeding and blood poisoning to worry about from him. Who knows what they’ll do to Hilde if I bring him back like this?

I stumble away from him. The Legacy rages again, but I can hold it in this time. Right now, I’d love nothing more than to tear the world apart with my power. It’d be a far better solution than what I’ll need to do to get Hilde back. Instead of breaking down in front of the Mog, I let my anger subside internally.

_ Fuck this! Fuck the Elders for what they did, fuck the Mogadorians for making them do it! Fuck Hilde for leaving me with this dumbass dilemma in a cave with some bitch-ass Mogadorian motherfucker! SHIT! _

Okay. That’s better.

It’s a good thing Hilde taught me field surgery.

I hit the Mog boy over the head with the hilt of the dagger. Maybe knocking him out isn’t such a good idea since he’s already hurt, but I’m not taking any chances. At the end of the day, my survival is the utmost importance. I stuff the dagger in my bag and gently lift the Mog off the ground with my mind. A few roaches leap off of him and scurry back into the muck. After I patch him up, I’ve gotta find a better way out of here than this pit of shit.

I find us another chamber—a cave of brilliant crystals that gather the glow from the dagger. It’s got nothing on daylight, but now at least I don’t need to use the blade as a torch. Beneath the purple radiance of the crystal tunnel, I take inventory.

A spare change of clothes.

Half of what’s left of our American dollars.

Handheld GPS, which obviously doesn’t have a signal here.

A compass that’s on the fritz, and about a week’s worth of dried fruit and nuts.

At the bottom of the bag is my Loric Chest, but I leave it in for safekeeping and retrieve the first aid kit in the other pocket.

The Mog groans when I remove his jacket and shirt, but he doesn’t stir.

Not even as I tape up the bruised area over his ribs.

That should hold him together. Maybe the Mogadorians will be grateful I patched up one of their own.

Or maybe they’ll gut Hilde just for the inconvenience.

After I’m done making sure my arch enemy doesn’t die, I search his pockets, his coat—a long black leather jacket. I guess they’re coldblooded, because I don’t see how their clothing would help them hunt us down in more extreme climates such as a jungle. But I do find something; a small leather-bound book.

_ The Great Book of Mogadorian Progress. _

Fitting reading material down here in the ass crack of the Earth.

To know my enemy and all that, I pop it open, start reading the foreword. The pages are divided in half—one side in English, the other in Mogadorian—like a Quran. From the way it starts, I’m guessing it really is like their holy book.

And it’s clear from the start how much they hate us.

> **Crippled by the Loric Garde**
> 
> **And severed from the Doorkeeper,**
> 
> **Beloved Leader**
> 
> **praise his name**
> 
> **Descended from the Weather.**
> 
> **He gave us wisdom,**
> 
> **Showed us knowledge,**
> 
> **Ignited the Mason’s swords,**
> 
> **Spawned the Vatborn fully-grown**
> 
> **To help us fight the Loric scourge,**
> 
> **Vermin demons that left us broken**
> 
> **Setrákus Ra has promised us**
> 
> **Vengeance for their decimation**
> 
> **Of our radiant Mogadore.**

And that’s just the first page. By the time I get to the nauseating details of how they used our own technology against us when they attacked, I notice that the Mog boy is awake, staring at me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tending to the wounds of her arch nemesis, Number One recounts her enlistment into the LDA and discovers the age-old complexity of the war from the Mogadorians' point of view.  
Next Sunday, "Lost in Translation"


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